Alien: Brightstar
by Mr Fishe
Summary: A military research expedition finds more than they bargained for when returning to the source of the Alien infestation…
1. One

_This is my first try at writing fan fiction, so any constructive criticism is very welcome. Thanks for reading!_

Colonel Harp watched the uplink dish begin to make its slow, methodical turn towards Sol. Although the dish was massive it seemed dwarfed by the vast, black thunderclouds that churned their way across the grey sky. The planet was only around a third the size of Earth, giving the horizon a perceptible curve that Harp still hadn't quite gotten used to, even after the five months they had been here.

The atmospheric fallout had played havoc with the planet's weather system, which had been far from idyllic to start with. The result were spectacular sudden storms such as this one, seemingly boiling up from nowhere - complete with 200 mph twisters and sheet lightening that rippled from one thunderhead to another. The Colonel found these displays of the planet's energy eerily beautiful, and he often liked to come topside to watch. The drawback was that the storms played merry Hell with Comms, and Meteorology had forecast that this particular storm was going to a kicker.

The windspeed had already reached 80 mph, although Harp could barley feel it inside his hardsuit. He was standing on the edge of the small rocky plateau the Communications Centre nestled on. Below him were the rows of neat, identical prefab hangers that made up the rest the surface component of Camp Foster, and beyond them the perimeter wall. In the gloom the Colonel could just make out the occasional figure of a suited Marine pacing along the top. Nobody on base liked pulling topside guard duty at the best of times, but patrolling in this weather produced the most grumbles. Being struck by lightening was not uncommon, and although the suits protected the wearer from any harm, it was still an unsettling experience, as Harp had discovered on more than one occasion.

Beyond the wall was a near-featureless rocky landscape, broken only by the occasional black basalt outcrop and covered in fine, grey-brown dust. The damnable dust covered everything, keeping Charlie Company's techs working from dawn to dusk clearing clogged vents and jammed rifles. It was highly radioactive, blown into the atmosphere and spread over the whole planet's surface by the plant that went critical two years ago. It also made wearing a hardsuit a necessity for any venture out of the base's structures - Harp had only been outside for twenty minutes and already the fallout covering his faceplate was making it difficult to see.

His suit's earpiece clicked twice and he heard the disembodied voice of the Comms tech on duty. "Uplink established, Colonel. Better hurry though, Sir, this weather front will be on us any minute."

Harp glanced up at the angry sky above him. "Roger that. On my way."

---

Once the decontamination cycle was finished Harp clambered out of the airlock, removed his suit and put on his base fatigues. One man looks very much like another when wearing a hardsuit, but once stripped from its protection any observer could see that the Colonel was every inch the stereotypical Marine officer.

He was perhaps a little shorter than might be expected - at 5'5" he was occasionally dwarfed by some of his own men – but his muscular frame and years of combat experience more than made up for it. He wore his grey hair cropped close to the skull; his body was covered in numerous small scars and vacuum burns, the result of a lifetime in the Corps. If asked, he would say that he was 51 years old, although a career spent at various lengths in hypersleep and the relativity conundrums that generated made pinning his exact age something of dilemma. He was usually a quiet and thoughtful man, although he had a fearsome temper when angered. His men respected and feared him in about equal measures, which suited the Colonel just fine.

The Comms Centre was the largest surface building on base, and sat next to the uplink dish. The walls of the circular room were lined with reinforced windows, providing a commanding view of both Camp Foster and the surrounding terrain. Above the windows banks of screens provided readouts from every data source available to the base, from weather reports to the transmissions of the orbital observation satellites. Below them technicians worked busily at terminals, interpreting data and passing reports to the Command Centre below ground.

When the Colonel arrived the tech who had spoken to him through his hardsuit handed Harp a slip of paper. "From Command, Sir. We have a window of about 15 minutes for your reply."

Harp quickly scanned the communiqué:

787-87D002

TO: CMDR PROJECT BRIGHTSTAR

FROM: MARINE COMMAND HQ

ADMIRAL JOHN H WALLACE

SOL MARINE INTELLIGENCE COMMAND

SUBJECT: RE: YOUR REPORT REGARDING BRIGHTSTAR UPDATE, BE ADVISED COMMAND EXPECT COMPLETE SURVEY OF LV-426 PRIOR TO WITHDRAWAL REPEAT ENTIRE SURFACE EXAMINATION VITAL. DO NOT INTERPRET NON CONTACT SITUATION AS INDICATIVE OF XENOMORPH ABSENCE. INTEL STRONGLY SUGGESTS INFESTATION, POSSIBLY HIDDEN. PROCEED WITH PATROLS. CONTINUE TO USE EXTREME CAUTION.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: I'm sorry to put you through this Andrew but Command seem to think your rock is crawling with some sort of alien killing machine. The brass are shitting themselves that they've spent ten trillion dollars sending a whole Marine Company there for nothing. There is no way they are going to sanction your withdrawal for another year at least, or until the survey is complete. The spooks have got a real bug up their ass about this supposed xenomorph so I'm afraid the only thing we can do is play along.

Lisa sends her love and we both hope to see you soon.

John

MESSAGE ENDS

Harp crumpled the page in his fist and turned to the technician, who was looking at him anxiously. "Take this down..."


	2. Two

Once he had completed his report the Colonel entered the lift from the Comms Centre that would take him below ground. If Comms was the eyes of Camp Foster then the below-ground facility was its heart and guts. It had taken the engineers almost two months to carve out the 5 sublevels below the unforgiving surface of LV-426. This was where Harp and his Marines spent most of their time, along with the civilian science team.

He got off at sublevel 2 and headed down the narrow, twisting corridors to his office. Despite all the time he had spent cooped up in hypersleep couches in starships, Harp was mildly claustrophobic; another reason he liked to get topside as much as possible. Living in these cramped below-ground conditions was doing nothing to help his temper.

Although his office was the largest in Camp Foster it still felt cramped to Harp. A simple chair and desk, a computer terminal, a bookcase of military history books. In one corner was a cheese plant he had brought all the way from Earth – it was one of the few green things living on the planet and the Colonel cherished it like an only child. He lifted a small plastic watering can from a shelf and gave the plant a drink, then wiped some dust from its glossy leaves. As he finished there was a rapid rap on the door leading from his adjutant's office.

"Come."

The door opened. "Good morning, Colonel. How did you sleep last night?"

"Terrible, as usual. What's for breakfast?"

"Eggs, I think, Sir. And this." His adjutant proffered the Colonel a stack of reports at least three inches thick.

Harp waved the reports away. "Give me the Reader's Digest version, Mark."

Second-Lieutenant Mark Wong was an easy-going, affable junior officer, easy to smile and with boyish features that made him look younger than he really was. He'd been the Colonel's adjutant for almost three years now, and although he was occasionally on the receiving end of Harp's nasty temper he knew it was (usually) not really directed at him, and had learned to shrugged it off.

"Right Skipper, Reader's Digest it is." Wong flicked through the papers. "Okay, Maintenance says that APC seven is fixable, but they need some parts delivered on the next shipment from Earth. Broken guidance computer, apparently."

"Fine, fine, requisition whatever they need. Command think this operation is so important it shouldn't be a problem."

"Yessir. Next, Chief Thompson says he has two Marines in the brig, and another one in the infirmary."

Harp slammed his fist onto his desk, rattling his terminal. "Goddamnit! What now?"

"Another fight, Sir. Privates Lakes and Sanders. Corporal Andersen got his nose broke when he tried to intervene."

The Colonel was livid. "I'm telling you Mark, this is no way to run an operation. What the Hell does Command expect? Keep men cooped up like this, with nothing to do but go on wild goose chases, and tempers will flair. We've got one of the finest combat machine here living like sewer rats with nothing to fight."

This was the third brawl in as many weeks. What made it all the more infuriating was that there was not a thing Harp could do about it. The radioactive fallout topside meant that his Marines couldn't be out for more than a 24 hour period, even with the protection offered by the hardsuits - and after that they required a downtime of 4 days below to ensure their roentgen count stayed low.

Worse that that, despite Charlie Company's extensive patrols of LV-426 they had failed to find a single living thing, much less the supposed xenomorph the brass thought they would be up to their necks in. Marines are trained to do one thing – fight – and if you don't give them something to fight after a while they would fight amongst themselves, thought Harp.

"What was the argument over? In fact, never mind, I don't care. Give them both 20 days confined to quarters on starvation rations. And dock their pay. Maybe that will discourage the others."

"Very good, Sir," said Wong, and he made a notation on the paperwork.

---

It took the best part of an hour for Harp and Wong to go through the remaining morning reports. The galley would be closing soon, so the Colonel had them send his breakfast up. When it arrived it was cold and the eggs tasted of grease, but he ate them anyway.

Wong had come to the last page of the report. "One last thing, Sir. You're not going to like it either."

The Colonel rubbed his eyes. It was only just after 10 am but he felt like he had been on the go all day. "Ok, Mark, make my morning."

"Dr Sebastian says if you don't meet with him today he's going to go directly to the Admiralty and make a formal request for your replacement. Sir."

Harp sighed. There was no way around it; he'd been avoiding that pompous ass all week but he knew he would have to see him eventually. "Ok Mark. Tell him I'll see him this afternoon. Schedule something and let me know."

"Very good, Sir." Wong returned to his office next door and left the Colonel to his thoughts.


	3. Three

Dr Harold Sebastian was Director of Science for Project Brightstar on LV-426. He was one of the most brilliant minds of his generation, and Earth's foremost xenobiologist. By the age of 29 he was a Nobel Prize Laureate, and had catalogued over 10,000 alien plants and primitive animals in over 31 star systems. He had dined with presidents and kings, been on the cover of every newssheet in the Core Systems and written 14 best-sellers. And here he was, aged 33, sitting in his office on some Godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere, watching his career evaporate right before his eyes.

When the Company had discretely approached him over half a year ago with news of their xenomorph, it would be fair to say that he had (almost quite literally) wet his pants. Of all the worlds he had worked on, Sebastian and his team had seen many unique alien species, but none more bright (or more threatening) that the equivalent of an Earth cow. Their story of an intelligent, bipedal parasite, with a hive-like society and awesome strength and speed at first made him laugh.

He remembered telling the Company spook who came to visit him "This is a joke, right?"

"It is no joke," said the spook. "And we want you to go find it. With a Marine Company and 50 of Earth's best scientists at your disposal. As project leader."

How could he say no?

---

So he said yes, and six months later here he was, living underground like some sort of hermit, surrounded by the best minds and equipment the Company had to offer and with sod all to study. The Marines, supposedly the best fighting machine Earth had to offer, had been singularly useless at their task. Sebastian had no doubt that the xenomorph was on LV-426 – as the leader of the Science Team he had access to all the intelligence reports Colonel Harp did, and it was clear from them that the alien creature was out there somewhere. Harp's Marines were just too stupid to find them.

Sebastian had repeatedly sent reports back to the Company lambasting the Colonel's incompetence, demanding that he was also put in charge of the military contingent, but to no avail. The Marines showed absolutely no methodical approach to their searches. An intelligent alien species could easily avoid their haphazard patrols. If things continued as they were he would die an old man on this rock before the xenomorphs were found. In the meantime there was no meaningful research he could conduct here. He hadn't published a paper for almost a year now, and the fickle scientific community back in the Core Systems was forgetting about him already. One of the xenobiology journals back on Earth had already published an article about him entitled "Sebastian Who?".

His science team, though much smaller in number than the Marines, occupied the two lowest sublevels of the facility and the lion's share of the space. Along with the sophisticated laboratories and containment facilities there were rec rooms, much larger offices, a huge library and a theatre. There was even a bar, something he was sure Harp's men would dearly love access to.

The military contingent was not allowed down into the scientific realm of Camp Foster, and for good reason. They may not have found any xenomorphs, but the Marines still had to go through the daily grind of drilling, patrolling and equipment maintenance. The civilian staff, on the other hand, had nothing to do but relax all day on full pay, something the grunts resented bitterly. Still, even Sebastian's staff were getting restless at the inactivity.

---

When the Colonel's little dogsbody Wong came to visit Sebastian that morning he assumed it was to deliver another excuse as to why the Marine Commander was too busy to meet with him, but he was pleasantly surprised when Wong told him the Colonel would finally see him that afternoon. Sebastian gave an icy smile to the Lieutenant. "I guess your Colonel Harp didn't like the idea of me telling Earth just how intransigent he has been?"

Wong smiled back without apparent malice. "The Colonel will be pleased to entertain you at three."

These people were insufferable! "Fine. Get out."


	4. Four

"Absolutely not!" snarled Harp.

"Colonel, it's essential my men have the protection they need when we find this xenomorph. You've read the reports on how potentially dangerous they could be."

"Doctor, there is not a cat in Hell's chance that I am going to requisition you one pulse rifle, never mind a hundred. If - and I stress _if_ - we find this alien creature, my men will provide whatever security duties you require. I'm not going to have a bunch of untrained scientists running around armed to the teeth and accidentally shooting each other!"

Harp's meeting with the Science Director was going exactly as he had envisioned. Sebastian was crazy if he thought Harp was going to let him plunder the armoury. The young Doctor exemplified everything Harp hated about Company personnel, with an aloof air of self-importance that he despised. They'd been bickering like this for the last 40 minutes, and the Colonel was sorely tempted to call in the guards and have Sebastian removed.

The Director had drawn himself up to his full height, obviously insulted by Harp's remark. "I assure you, Colonel, that no one will be running around "accidentally" shooting anyone. Many of my team have undergone the Company firearms awareness course and are therefore fully qualified, myself included. We can do our own guarding duties."

Harp slowly stood up from his desk, his eyes fixed on Sebastian's and glinting with rage. "_Firearms awareness course_? You think spending half an hour on a firing range qualifies you as some kind of combat _expert_?" He was almost shaking with anger now. Who the Hell did Sebastian think he was?

The barley-concealed contempt in the Science Director's voice was clear. "Frankly, _Colonel_, I doubt your men would have the mental capacity to-"

Lieutenant Wong suddenly burst into the Colonel's office, cutting Sebastian off in mid flow. Harp glared at him and furiously demanded "_What is it_, Lieutenant?"

Wong's face was flushed. He seemed totally oblivious to the tension in the room and Harp's anger. "Colonel. Sir. We just got word from Zulu patrol. They've found something."

It took them nearly three hours to reach Zulu patrol's position. Harp and his entourage suited up and stepped out into the abominable weather swirling around their location. He was pleased to see that Zulu had set up a proper defensive perimeter around the cave where the find had been made, and hadn't been distracted by the excitement.

Zulu's patrol leader ran up to the colonel and snapped a near-perfect salute, despite the movement limitations of his hardsuit. "Colonel. We think we've found the egg things the briefings described. About 20 meters inside the cave. They looked dead, sir."

Harp returned the gesture. "Good work Sergeant. What's the situation of your squad?"

"Well Sir, I left Ricks and Jenna there to cover the cave. They report no motion or activity. The rest of the squad is out here."

Harp frowned. "What channel are they on, Sergeant?"

"Eleven, Sir."

"Very good, Sergeant. Maintain the perimeter. You did good work here today, son." Harp patted the young marine on his suit's shoulder.

"Thank you, Sir."

Harp took a few steps away from Zulu's sergeant and clicked his comms over to channel eleven. "Ricks, Jenna, this is Colonel Harp. What's your sitrep there, boys?"

The channel crackled with static caused by the storm overhead. "This is Jenna here, Sir. We got six of the eggs here. No movement from them. This place's a tomb, Colonel."

"Roger that, private. Recovery team is inbound; sit tight."


	5. Five

Man's brain has a finite capacity when it comes to large numbers. At a certain point, distance becomes meaningless, something beyond comprehension. How far is ten thousand kilometres? A hundred thousand? A billion? The vastness of space soon becomes incomprehensible, unimaginable. Bleak, empty, and beyond understanding.

In that black, frigid nothingness, in that terrifying absence of anything, a single word travelled from a dim backwater system of an unremarkable galactic arm to Earth, defying the bounds of Newtonian physics, speeding through E-space, breaking and making conventional laws of science as it hurtled towards Sol.

The word travelled on a military band, encoded and scrambled in an unintelligible algorithm, coded so deftly that anyone bar the intended recipient would take twenty lifetimes to understand.

The word was CONTACT.


End file.
